1
Introduction
For most Americans in the years leading up to the COVID pandemic, daily life was like an obstacle course. When the Pew Charitable Trust, one of the nation’s leading polling agencies, queried Americans on their sense of financial security in 2015, it found that 50 percent of those polled declared that they felt acutely insecure about their financial situation. An astounding 71 percent declared that they could not pay their bills, and 70 percent said they did not have enough saved to retire. The feeling of insecurity about their future weighs so heavily on the minds of Americans that a whopping 92 percent said that they would give up economic mobility in exchange for economic security. It is not that the respondents don’t wish for mobility—rather, they view their situation as being so precarious that they would forego future economic gains for a sense of stability here and now.1
Things are not this bad for everyone. In fact, for those at the apex of American society, life has never been so good. For America’s richest families, the last forty years have been something like a non-stop party. Even as incomes have stagnated for the vast majority, the richest 10 percent have gotten richer and fatter. In the United States, around 86 percent of all the increase in personal wealth between 1983 and 2019 went to this group, while just over 5 percent went to the bottom 80 percent of the population. In fact, it gets worse as you go up. Within that top 10 percent, the bulk of the gains went to the infamous “one-percenters” (41.6 percent), while the next 5 percent captured one-third of all gains in those years. The story is very much the same with income. The one-percenters took away a third of all new income between 1983 and 2019, and the top 10 percent combined captured almost 70 percent.2
In other words, even as the economy has gotten better and more efficient since 1980, almost all the direct benefits have gone to those who were already rich. Any decent person would agree that there is something fundamentally wrong with this situation. How can it be that in a society with such enormous resources and wealth, a thin layer of the population at the top gets to have everything, while millions upon millions experience life as a daily grind, a struggle just to make ends meet?
Well, mainstream media and talking heads do have an explanation, and it tends to be of two kinds. The first places the blame on individuals. It’s exemplified in what Republican presidential candidate Herman Cain said in his 2012 primary campaign: “If you don’t have a job and you’re not rich, blame yourself!”3 What Cain meant is that the only thing standing between you and a decent life is your willingness to work hard. So if you are in poverty, stuck in a bad job, or simply unemployed, it is because you cannot or will not put in the effort to succeed. You either refuse to put in the hours, or you refuse to accept the wage and the hours that come with the job. You are either too lazy or too precious. But then, if this is so, of course you have no one to blame but yourself.
The second explanation blames the government. The basic idea is that social problems arise because the government keeps interfering in the market, preventing it from functioning the way it is supposed to. If left to itself, the market is both fair and maximally efficient. As long as people want to work, everyone will find a job; if they have special skills, the market will recognize and reward them for it; if they have an idea that will make money, banks will give them the credit to start their own business and become rich. Markets spontaneously tend toward full employment, and they reward people for their talents. The problem is that governments won’t leave them alone. Politicians and special interests pile on regulations that squelch entrepreneurial initiative; they launch welfare schemes that get people hooked on welfare; they don’t let goods flow freely across borders; and so on. The solution, therefore, is to get the government out of the economy and let the market do its magic.
What both of these views have in common is the premise that capitalism itself cannot be responsible for the chronic poverty, unemployment, insecurity, and hopelessness in which millions of people are stuck. Far from trapping people in conditions of insecurity and powerlessness, the market is a domain of freedom and opportunity. People choose what to do with their lives, how to develop their talents, and who to work for, or whether to work at all. All of these choices are freely made. Whatever obstacles there are in the way of people having a decent life are not in the system, since the system is nothing other than the sum total of the choices people have made, unconstrained. If they choose to work, they are rewarded for their initiative and talent. If they decide not to—well, then they suffer the consequences. So if some people get the short end of the stick, it is either due to their own deficiencies or because of external interference.
It’s easy to see that this is the view from the mansion. It is the ideology of the winners, those for whom the system works fantastically well. On this view, if someone is rich it must be because of their hard work, not because they have the advantage of class; their money reflects their skills and talents, not the power they wield over their workers. There is no oppression and no exploitation, only free choice and opportunity. For the last few decades, this explanation for people’s misery didn’t face much of a challenge. For what seems like a lifetime, it looked like people saw no choice but to hunker down and try to just get through, even if they had doubts about what their TVs and their teachers told them about how society works. The idolatry of the market seemed to drown out every other voice.
But in the past few years, it’s become pretty clear that people aren’t buying the message anymore. Whereas it seems it was only yesterday that Margaret Thatcher proclaimed there was “no alternative” to the market fundamentalism that she espoused and implemented, that ideology is now in a shambles. Whereas politicians openly touted the virtues of a free market and open trade, this is no longer so. The debate is no longer on whether the market should be tamed, but how much it ought to be. Socialism, once taboo in public discourse, has exploded onto the political scene. According to an Axios/Momentive poll, 41 percent of Americans had a positive view of socialism in 2021, and among the 18–24 age demographic, it was 51 percent.4 An “alternative,” to use Thatcher’s language, is exactly what people seem to want. In 2015, the most frequently entered query in Google’s search engine was “socialism”!
Socialism is back in the air because there is a growing sense among working people that the problems they face aren’t the doing of this or that party or politician, but stem from the way the system itself works. And in fact this intuition on the part of billions of people is correct—the problem is the system, and if we’re going to do anything to make the situation better, it is important to understand how that system works.
It may be useful to summarize the five big points to take away from this chapter:
Capitalism isn’t just a collection of individuals,
but individuals grouped in social classes.
People don’t come to the market as individuals competing on a level playing field. They are grouped into different classes and face very different economic conditions. The basic fact that differentiates the people into these classes is whether or not they own their means of production—land, factories, banks, hotels, etc. The vast majority of people don’t. The only way they can survive is by working for those who do own the means of production, called capitalists. So most people in capitalism are simple workers, and they have no choice but to sell their labor effort to capitalists; capitalists, in turn, sell the goods and services that they produce by hiring the workers. Both groups are forced to sell on the market, but what they sell is very different. And this means that they have different interests.
Capitalists and workers have very different interests.
Capitalists are driven to maximize profits. But in order to succeed, they typically have to wage constant war on their own employees. What every employer tries to achieve is to produce as cheaply as possible and to squeeze as much as he can out of his workers for every dollar he gives them. This naturally means that each employer tries to keep his employees’ wages as low as he can, while also getting as much work out of them as he can in return. This runs against what workers desire. Whereas the employer wants to keep wages low, the worker wants to set them as high as he can; and while the employer wants to set the pace of work as high as he can, the worker wants to keep it at a reasonable level. But because the employer is the stronger party, workers have to accept the terms, even though it undermines their well-being.
Capitalists aren’t motivated by greed but by market pressures.
Capitalists don’t cause harm to their employees out of malice or greed. Their motivation comes from the brute reality of market competition. If a capitalist doesn’t produce at the lowest price, he knows that he will lose customers, and if that continues, his firm will start bleeding money. So he has to keep his selling price as low as possible. But if he’s going to lower his selling price, he also has to lower his costs, or he won’t make any money. Hence, he tries to pay out as little as possible for his inputs—the machines and raw material that he buys, and the wages he’s paying to his workers. So every capitalist constantly tries to get the most out of every dollar he spends, including from his workers. This is how firms survive in the market. It has nothing to do with greed.
This system creates enormous wealth but
also great misery for the majority.
This is why, even though capitalism creates enormous wealth, its benefits are so lopsided. Workers would be better off if every time productivity went up, it would mean higher wages and shorter working days. But this doesn’t happen in a free market. Even while productivity is increasing, employers respond by demanding more effort and longer hours. And just as importantly, even as profits go up, there is no guarantee that it’ll come back to the employees in the form of higher wages—the employer will prefer to keep the increased profits himself, either to pay out to shareholders, or reinvest it, or put it in his pocket. This means that even as the economic pie expands, workers don’t necessarily benefit from it. They can be stuck with stagnant wages, job insecurity, long hours, and ill health. If left to its own, the system itself creates enormous wealth for some, and misery for the many.
Workers only advance if they act collectively.
The reason you get fantastic riches on one side and mass misery on the other is very simple—workers are dependent on their employers, so they have to accept the terms they are offered. The boss gets to call the shots. Even though capitalists and workers both need the other, they aren’t equals. Yes, a factory owner has to have workers, and workers need to find a job. It sounds like a good bargain for both. But, in fact, the worker will always be more desperate than the employer. She typically has very little savings to tide her over, is living hand to mouth, and knows that if she doesn’t agree to the wage being offered, there are lots of other equally desperate people who will take those terms. What makes her weaker is the fact that she is easily replaced if she turns down the offer. For workers, the only solution to this dilemma is to make it harder to be replaced if they choose to refuse their employers’ offer, and the only way to consistently do this is by banding together. In other words, individual workers defend their interests by forming collective organizations. This is the lesson they have learned over the course of two centuries, and it is as true today as it was two centuries ago.
With this summary as a guidepost for our basic argument, we can now work out the details.
What is Capitalism?
Capitalism is a kind of economic system. It is a particular way of organizing the production of goods and services in a given population. Now, to suggest that capitalism is one way of organizing economic activity implies that it is not the only way of so doing. There have been other kinds of economic systems—two well-known examples are the slave economy of ancient Rome and feudalism in medieval Europe and Asia. So what sets capitalism apart? How do we know it when we see it?
The simplest way to identify capitalism is on the basis of something called market dependence. In a capitalist society, the vast majority of people depend on the market to make a living. What this means is that when people try to acquire the basic necessities for their well-being—such as food, clothing, and shelter—they have to buy or rent them from someone else. They don’t have the option of making the essentials themselves. A system in which everyone is market-dependent has several important characteristics.
Production is carried out for selling on the
market, not for self-consumption.
What this means is that when producers make something, it is not for their own use. The main aim is the sale of that product to someone else. This has a profound effect on all aspects of production. Those people who organize and carry out economic decisions now have to focus single-mindedly on finding a buyer for their goods. It doesn’t matter if the good or service is something they personally like or have a use for. All that matters is that someone else finds it desirable and wants to buy it.
The labor that goes into production is
by people working for a wage.
Another way of saying this is that the typical form of employment in capitalism is wage labor. For most of human history, most people were self-employed. They worked on their own plots of land as peasants or in their own establishments as craftsmen. In capitalism, self-employment is the exception, not the rule. What is most common is for people to work for someone else. They work under their employer’s direction, for an agreed-upon amount of time and at an agreed-upon rate of compensation. The most common is an hourly rate, which is called a wage.
Productive establishments are privately owned.
What this means is that the places that hire wage laborers—like factories, warehouses, restaurants, and hotels—are owned by individuals who have full and exclusive authority over what to do with them. They also have authority over whom to hire, how many people to employ, what to produce, whether or not to expand production, and so on. These owners are called capitalists, and the assets that they own are called capital.
These three elements are foundational to a capitalist system. It is important to note that while all three are important, it is really private ownership that gets the ball rolling. Wage labor has been present to some extent in many economic systems—it existed in ancient Rome and in every kind of medieval system in Europe and Asia. It has also been very common to have trade and exchange, and, in fact, virtually every society with settled agriculture has had trade both within and outside its boundaries. But in all such cases, wage labor and trade were pretty minor phenomena. People worked for wages but usually to supplement what they produced on their own land-holdings; there might be some people who relied mainly on wage labor, but their number was always pretty small.
Similarly, trade has been around for centuries, even millennia, but family units very rarely depended on exchange for their survival. What they took to the market was usually a surplus left over after their basic consumption needs had been satisfied. Hence, they didn’t organize their production with the goal of selling on the market. What they made therefore remained geared toward personal consumption. So the mere fact that there exists some wage labor is not evidence for capitalism, nor is the existence of trade and exchange. Both these phenomena have existed within pre-capitalist economic systems. For them to be associated with capitalism, they have to move to being at the very center of economic activity. They have to become the organizing principles for production and distribution.
So trade and wage labor become markers of capitalism when they become the anchors of the entire economy—that is, when they become the means by which production and consumption are carried out. And historically, this only happened once the vast majority of people lost their access to the means of production. Through most of human history, the vast bulk of the population lived on the land, and, more importantly, individual families had publicly recognized rights to plots of land. As long as they had access to this land, they could produce for themselves—they grew their own crops, produced much of their own articles of consumption, and therefore did not have to rely either on selling on the market or working for a wage. They still participated in market transactions, and they even resorted to wage labor occasionally. But their survival never depended on these activities. They relied on them only to supplement their income and consumption. As long as they had access to the means of production, they could keep market forces at bay in their lives.
But once economic actors are stripped of the means of production, once they lose access to land and capital, the conditions for their economic reproduction undergo a sea change. They can no longer rely on their own crops or handicrafts to survive, since they don’t have access to key factors of production. They have to buy their articles of consumption on the market, which means that they have to first find a way of acquiring money in order to purchase them. This money comes from working for those few people who now have taken exclusive control over the means of production—the capitalists.
Another way of putting all this is that capitalism comes about through the creation of a particular kind of class structure—in which there is a small group on one side called capitalists, who control the basic means of production; and another group, the vast majority, on the other side, who don’t have any choice but to seek employment from these capitalists. We call the second group the working class. It’s the creation of this class system that brings about complete market dependence for everyone. The very act of creating a class of capitalists and a class of workers spreads the market throughout society. How does that happen?
Here’s how. By depriving the bulk of the population of the means of production, two new mass markets have been created simultaneously. First, by forcing the bulk of the population to go out looking for jobs, we have created a market for labor power. Owners of capital wishing to produce a good can now find labor on this newly established labor market. Second, by forcing these wage laborers to purchase their consumption goods on the market, we have created a mass market for those very goods—a market that didn’t exist before, since people relied on their own means of production to feed and clothe themselves. There is now a market for labor and another one for the goods that that labor will produce, whereas previously both of these were either very small or nonexistent.
Hence, what has kept wage labor and market exchange at the margins of economic production through most of human history is the absence of private property. And what enables them to take over the economy, to become the drivers of production and consumption decisions, is when one group of people manages to throw the bulk of the population off the land.
It’s All about Profits
So now we know that in a capitalist economy most people are distributed into two great classes. Production is controlled by capitalists, who employ workers to produce goods and services. These are sold on the market as commodities. It is from the sale of commodities that both workers and employers derive their income. This is worth examining at a little more length.
Karl Marx gave a very intuitive description for the process through which a capitalist goes about their business. Suppose you’re a capitalist with a sum of money that you want to use to start an enterprise. This sum of money is represented by the letter M. With this M, the capitalist then goes out and buys what they need to produce goods or services—land, machinery, raw materials, and, of course, labor power—produces the commodity, and takes it to the market to sell. The commodities produced are denoted by C. If C is successfully sold, the capitalist is able to recoup the money originally spent on inputs M. This completes the cycle of production. We can represent this as:
M → C → M
The M at the end of the production period represents the same sum of money that the employer started with—the original investment. If the employer manages to recoup this amount from sales revenue, they are in a position to start a new cycle of production and enter the market again to try their luck. If the original sum M is not recouped and revenues are less than the original value, there will be a drain on the employer’s wealth. So at the very least, the capitalist needs to end up with the money he originally had, if he wants to stay in business.
But while it is important for him to recoup his original investment, of course this isn’t all he needs. For one thing, he wouldn’t have made any money for himself. For the capitalist to do that, there has to be an addition to the original value of M—a surplus over the money he pays out to others. We can represent this as ΔM. The “Δ” stands for the additional increment he has made over his initial investment—his profit. It is from this profit, the ΔM, that he derives his own income, and also the money with which he can expand his operations, perhaps buy new machinery, etc. So the new M—the outputs M—needs to be of a greater value than the original M—the input—if he wants to do more than just cover his costs. A more accurate way of representing the cycle is therefore as follows:
M → C → M + △M
The additional increment is hardly a side note. It’s actually the most important part of the production effort. The whole point of the cycle for the capitalist is to end up with the ΔM. If not for that, his entire effort becomes a kind of philanthropic endeavor, in which he pays out to others, but takes nothing home for himself. The ΔM is the capitalist’s profit, and as everyone knows, it is the pursuit of profit that shapes the entire organization of production in capitalism.
We know now what the capitalist is after—the profit. We know that he owns the means of production with which he can acquire it. Once he has his material inputs in hand—the machinery, buildings, raw materials, etc.—all he needs is to find labor. If he is operating in a setting where peasants or farmers have not been stripped of their land, this is of course a major stumbling block, since the labor he needs will not be available. This is why capitalism requires depriving the bulk of the population of the means of production, so they have to go out looking for work and make themselves available to employers. But since we are assuming that this expropriation has been accomplished, then finding a sufficient number of workers in the labor market is rarely a problem.
The capitalist now has to do two things. First, he has to get his employees to do the work that is needed to produce the commodity he wishes to market. He can do this in a couple of different ways. The most typical in advanced industrial countries is by bringing employees together under one roof in some kind of productive enterprise—a factory, a workshop, hotel, restaurant, nursing home, warehouse, etc. Here he provides them with the raw materials, tools, machinery, etc. that are needed to make the commodity, and puts them to work. They put these implements to use and at the end of the production period they present him with the commodity he wishes to take to the market. In the case of services, they sell it on-site to customers as they come in to purchase it. Either way, the capitalist has to be sure that his employees will provide him with the one thing he needs from them—the requisite labor effort that must go into production of the good or provision of the service. The process of acquiring this labor effort from workers, that is, the time during which they are at work producing the good or service, is called the labor process.
In advanced capitalist societies, the labor process is supervised by the employer or managers, to ensure that the employees work as hard as the boss needs them to. But in many parts of the world, especially in poorer countries, capitalists hire workers who do not carry out the labor process under one roof. Instead, they work at home, often working as a family and sometimes hiring a small number of workers themselves. This, the second method of production, is a kind of sub-contracting, or contracting out. This is as much a capitalist form of production as the first one, since the basic organizing principles are the same—work is being done by workers for a fixed rate, and the products are made for sale, not personal consumption. What is different is just the location of the labor process—it is decentralized instead of being located in one building or compound.
Now comes the second thing the capitalist needs to do—sell the product. If the sales effort goes as expected, then the initial investment will have paid off and there is profit, the ΔM. The capitalist is now ready to start the process anew, hire the workers back for the next production period and return to the market with a new batch of goods and maybe earn another round of revenue. It seems simple enough. But as it happens, it is not that simple. What the capitalist typically finds is that the market is nothing like this peaceful fantasy. It is in fact more like a war zone. And the challenges of the market affect every part of the production process, forcing adjustments at every step, from buying inputs to marketing.
The Pressure of Competition
What turns the market into something like a war zone is the fact of competition. When capitalists try to sell their product, they find one of two things. The most common is that they are not the only ones trying to market that particular commodity. There are other capitalists also trying to do the same, bringing their own goods for sale and hoping to recoup their own investments, just like the particular capitalist we happen to be following. An automaker finds other automobiles also being sold, a hotel manager finds other hotels vying for customers, and textile producers have to contend with other manufacturers desperate to market their own product. And since they are all vying for the same consumers, they have to find a way of drawing the consumers toward their commodities and hence away from those being sold by others.
A second possibility is that the capitalist does not initially find competitors already in the market. He might be so lucky as to be the only producer of the good in question, and hence able to make easy sales at a high price. His rate of return on his investment will probably rise to a level other capitalists in other sectors can only dream of. But this state of affairs is unlikely to last very long. The very fact that he has it so good, and is able to make a very high rate of return, inevitably will draw the attention of other capitalists. And when they are about to start their next cycle of production, with their money in hand, they will pause. They will compare the return they are likely to get in their own line of production with the higher one in the sector where our capitalist is the lone producer. They will very likely decide to enter this high-profit sector so that they may also tap into the stream of easy profits that our man is making. Or alternatively, it won’t be capitalists from other sectors who enter the line but capitalists looking for a first-time investment, just like our capitalist did when he decided to enter the line as lone producer. Either way, the “sole producer” status doesn’t last very long.
The point here is that, sooner or later, most every capitalist finds that if he wants to make his profits, it will have to come through winning the competitive battle. The sales effort thus becomes a highly fraught affair, in which the main goal is not just to find customers to buy a good, but to make them buy it from him instead of from someone else. The most important way to achieve this is by lowering the selling price of the good, so that it is cheaper than the one being sold by competitors. Competition is thus carried out mainly through the reduction of prices. This price competition should be understood in one of two ways—either as selling the same-quality good at a lower price, or as selling a better-quality good at the same price. Either way, the seller is offering the customer a better bargain for their money.
But this is where the profound impact of competition becomes clear. The pressure to lower the selling price creates an immediate problem for the capitalist. If he keeps lowering his price to attract more customers, it means he is also reducing his profit margin, because while his selling price has gone down, his costs have not. It still costs the same amount to make the goods—he still has to pay his rent, pay back any loans he took out; all the raw material costs are the same and so is the wage bill. And if his profit margin keeps shrinking, it could end up threatening the very survival of his enterprise. There will soon come a point where he is unable to pay for his inputs, or where his profit is so low that it doesn’t make sense to stay in that particular product line anymore. He will think about closing shop and finding other investments for his money. If he is to stay in this product line, or stay solvent, he has to find a way out of this squeeze on his profits. He has to restore profitability.
The Compulsion to Minimize Costs
The only way for a capitalist to maintain his profit margin while cutting his selling price is by reducing his costs. There are two dimensions to this. The first is the most obvious—when he goes out to buy machines, or find a building to rent, or hire labor, he will choose the cheapest option available. He can’t afford to be extravagant. But of course, not being extravagant doesn’t mean that you buy garbage, just because it’s cheap. You have to make sure that whatever inputs you get are also efficient and productive. This is the second dimension to cost reduction. The inputs have to be the cheapest ones available, but which will also produce a decent return, by performing up to standards set by the competition. There’s no point buying a cheap machine if it keeps breaking down; it doesn’t help to locate into a low-rent building if it doesn’t have a reliable power supply; and low-wage workers don’t help if they just stand around all day or lack the needed skills. What the capitalist needs is not the cheapest inputs per se but the best bargain. What makes the inputs a bargain is not just how much they cost but also how much output they provide in return.
So the capitalist has to make sure that he is doing two things at the same time—spending as little as he can, while getting the most out of every dollar that he spends. This has a very important implication for how he relates to his workers. He doesn’t just want the cheapest machine, but the machine that produces the most at the cheap price. So too, he doesn’t just want to pay very little in wages, but also to get the most output from the workers at that wage. The capitalist wants to maximize the effort that his workers give him, at whatever wage he is paying them, and with whatever machines he has them working.
The problem is there is no way to specify the quantity and quality of the effort a worker is going to provide to his employer. When a capitalist hires his labor, the agreement is over two things—how long they will work, and how much money they will get for it. The agreement is over the labor time. The employer pays the worker for his time, and then hopes—or tries to ensure—that the effort expended by that laborer is up to the standard set by the market. Unfortunately for him, this is not so easy. First, he can’t be sure that the worker will be as committed to this goal as he is. The worker might not want to work at the rate his employer prefers. He might prefer a more leisurely pace. Or, more ominously, the worker might feel that the pace of work his boss is demanding can actually be harmful to him.
Second, the pace of work demanded by the employer can itself keep changing. What was an acceptable pace of work to the employer last month will not be so today, because a rival found a way of driving his workers harder, or maybe bought a new machine that lowers his costs. This sends every other capitalist scrambling to find new ways of economizing, and of getting more out of their own labor force. The goal posts, as it were, keep shifting. So just as workers get habituated to a given pace of work, the order comes down that it’s not enough. They now have to work harder, or faster, than they have been working. So capitalists have to treat their employees’ effort as a variable—something that can’t be predicted, and which they have to constantly find new ways of adjusting. It’s a variable because when they hire a worker, they don’t have full knowledge of how much she is capable of delivering, and they have no real confidence in how much effort she will be willing to offer. This creates a constant tussle between them, so that the labor process becomes a battleground between workers and management.
The drive to minimize wage costs while maximizing work extraction is the essence of how capital relates to labor. Across the economy, regardless of product line or economic sector, the basic dynamic is the same. A capitalist who manages to get his labor force to work faster, harder, and better will have ended up with a much better bargain than one whose workers are less careful or not expending as much effort. He doesn’t drive his workers because he is greedy, but because someone else might beat him to it—and end up having an advantage in the market. Of course, this doesn’t mean that all workers are reduced to working for starvation wages. In different sectors, the wage level differs with the level of productivity. The point isn’t that workers in every sector end up with the same wage; it is that in every sector, workers are forced to submit to the same pressure, and the wages they get are kept as low as the market will allow.
Two very important implications follow from this. First, the relentless pressure to keep down wages, while also getting the most work out of their employees, pits employers against their workers. Another way of putting this is that capitalists and workers end up having very different interests, since, obviously, workers would rather have the highest wages they can get for themselves and keep to a humane work schedule. When the boss tells them to increase the output per hour, it means more fatigue; when he tells them to take shorter breaks, it means more drudgery or more stress; when he doesn’t give them a raise for years at a time, it means that they are essentially handing over to him all the gains from their greater efficiency. The boss’s gain is coming at their expense—hence, they have different interests. But this is where the second important fact comes in—even though workers might have different priorities than their employer, it’s the employer who is able to set the basic terms. Or to put it differently, it’s the employer’s interests that typically win out. This is because he is the more powerful party of the two. He has the power to hire and fire, and the worker is rarely in a position to afford losing her job.
When we put these two facts together, we see the roots of one of the most basic facts about capitalism—even though workers and capitalists work together to produce their firm’s revenue, how they go about doing it and how the benefits are distributed are decided by the boss. This enables capitalists to set the terms of work in a way that they reap the gains of economic growth, while labor’s vulnerability forces it to absorb most of the costs. Employers’ power to hire and fire enables them to organize work in such a way that the benefits come to them, while employees are forced to adjust their lives around the demands of work. The result is vast wealth and power for one side, with stagnant incomes, insecurity, overwork, and collapsing health for the other.
Let’s see how this works out in three critical areas—income distribution, economic insecurity, and the pace and duration of work.
Income Distribution
The most obvious way in which employers benefit at the expense of workers is in how the gains from production are shared. The basic operating principle of employment in capitalism is that employers offer jobs at a certain wage, and employees are free to take that offer or refuse it. But while this seems like a fair bargaining situation between two parties, in this case the transaction is between two very unequal sides. People looking for jobs are doing so because they don’t have enough to live on. They enter the labor market with little or no savings to fall back on. Employers, on the other hand, are by definition holders of wealth, typically with a healthy income flow, and also able to secure credit and loans if they need to. So the bargaining situation is between one person (the worker) who is desperate for an income, and another (the employer) who already has a stock of wealth at his disposal. Obviously, the employer is in a much stronger position than the worker. This inequality in leverage means that employers are able to set the terms on the employment contract that massively favor them over their employees. They are able to demand that they get the lion’s share of the income that their firm generates. Workers are free to refuse this deal, of course—but at the cost of risking unemployment. So the choice for them is between settling for an unfair bargain, or having no income at all.
This imbalance between the two groups is profoundly important. The greater power enjoyed by capitalists enables them to get income over and above what they would get if they were on a more equal footing with the workers. And this means that income includes a component that, in an important sense, is extorted from the workers—it’s a kind of blackmail made possible by workers’ desperation. Hence, a big reason why workers’ share of income is low is because part of what could have come to them ends up in capitalists’ pockets, through this extortion. But if this is so, then it’s fair to say that capitalists’ soaring incomes are that high at least in part because workers’ incomes are low.
It is sometimes claimed that, even though it is regrettable that employers claim the lion’s share of income, it is worth it because they reinvest that income. The reinvestment results in faster growth, and this growth results in rising incomes for workers too. Hence, as the saying goes, a rising tide lifts all boats. But the last half-century has shown that there is no reason to expect such an outcome. Whether or not workers share in productivity increases depends a great deal on building their bargaining power against employers. Without it, the income gains go straight to the bosses. The history of wage growth in the United States shows this very clearly. In figure 1 we can see that postwar US history can be divided into two distinct periods. The first, stretching from 1948 to the early 1970s, witnessed a steady growth in wages, pretty much in line with productivity growth. This means that as US firms became more productive and brought in more revenue, wages went up right along with it. But this changed in the mid-1970s. From 1979 to 2020, productivity went up by 62 percent, while wages only increased by 17 percent. Where did the rest of it go? Into the hands of owners and CEOs.
Figure 1. Confronting Capitalism
Source: EPI analysis of Bureau of Labor Statistics and Bureau of Economic Analysis data. Updated from Figure A in Economic Policy Institute, Raising America’s Pay: Why It’s Our Central Economic Challenge, June 2014.
Note: Data are for compensation (wages and benefits) of production/nonsupervisory workers in the private sector and net productivity of the total economy. “Net productivity” is the growth of output of goods and services less depreciation per hour worked.
There are two essential points here. First and most importantly, it explodes the myth that if we tolerate the buildup of huge inequalities, the benefits will “trickle down” to the workers. In fact there is nothing guaranteeing such an outcome. Unless workers have some way of redirecting some of the income stream toward themselves, their bosses will use their greater power to grab it and use it as they see fit. This brings up the second point—the main reason there was a break in income growth was a decline in workers’ bargaining power. The years during which wages rose in tandem with productivity were also the era during which unions had a foothold in the workplace. After the explosion of industrial unrest in the mid-1930s, trade unions finally were granted legal backing, enabling millions of workers to organize and bargain collectively around wages and work conditions—for the first time in American history. Employers now had to negotiate the terms of employment, rather than setting them unilaterally. And the result was several decades of rising wages and growing incomes for workers. Here, workers were forcing employers to share some of the fruits of increasing revenue, and employers had to concede because unions had the power to shut down production if the bosses refused.
But by the middle of the 1970s, the power of unions was weakened to the point where they weren’t able to exert the pressure needed to redirect revenues to their members. Membership continued to decline, and by the 1980s it had fallen from its peak of almost a third of the labor force in the 1950s, to around 10 percent. Private sector workers were once again at their employers’ mercy. Profits continued to grow in the 1990s, but instead of being funneled into higher wages, that money now went to the owners and managers of capital. As the balance of power between labor and capital changed, so did the distribution of income. Or, to put it in the language of the famous metaphor, the tide continued to rise, but it only lifted the boats belonging to the rich. The poor were left to swim for their survival.
Economic Insecurity
At the very core of employers’ power over workers is job insecurity. We have seen that the reason workers accept the lopsided wage bargain is that they have little choice: they are told to either take the job as it is offered or risk starvation. This threat is effective only because working people have no way of getting access to the basic necessities of life except through the labor market. Finding and keeping a job is the only way they can live. And fulfilling both these goals—finding a job and then keeping it—depends entirely on the whims of those who control the means of production, the employer class. Libertarians often say that while it’s true that bosses can fire workers, workers can also “fire” their boss—by simply walking away from the job. But this is highly misleading. It’s true that a worker is free to leave his job—he isn’t owned by the employer, nor is he typically indentured to him. But this formal freedom to walk away has very little significance, unless the worker has some other source of income to which he can exit. Where would this come from? They don’t own plots of land, or their own business, or have huge stock portfolios to fall back on. That’s why they go out looking for work. They can seek out another job, but of course every job will have a similar power imbalance between them and their employer. Plus, there is no guarantee that they will find a job at all. So the rational move is for them to stick it out—to try holding on to this job.
The workers’ baseline insecurity is built into the system in two ways. First, the very existence of capitalism presumes that the vast majority of people don’t have access to the means of production. This is what we have been examining thus far in our discussion—the natural state of desperation in which most people live. The second mechanism that builds insecurity into the system is the process of economic growth itself. Growth in capitalism comes about as capitalists find ways of increasing their efficiency and productivity so they can sell at a lower price and expand their market share. Increasing productivity is the name of the game. But as firms become more productive, they find that they can produce more with fewer workers. It now takes fewer workers to make the same number of goods, precisely because productivity has gone up. Employers engaging in this kind of investment therefore typically react by also laying off part of their labor force, throwing them back into the job market.
This is why the system never runs out of labor. You might wonder why it doesn’t: after all, in a growing economy, job opportunities are always expanding, and at some point the number of people looking for jobs should run out. The reason it doesn’t is that, even as people are being sucked up into new jobs, the growth process itself is also throwing masses of employees back into the labor market. The very process that generates growth—the increasing labor productivity—also replenishes the pool of labor for that expansion to continue. Marx called the workers who were constantly thrown back into the labor market the reserve army of labor; it is a kind of labor reserve, waiting to be sucked up into employment as capitalists need them.
What this means, in essence, is that capitalism not only depends on the creation of mass insecurity, but reproduces that very insecurity as part of its lifeblood. Or, to put it differently, precarious employment is built into the system. It is the natural state for workers: they hold on to their jobs only at the pleasure of their employer. And for most of the history of capitalism, the tenure of a typical job has been very short.
Job insecurity is especially acute in many parts of the Global South, mainly because people from rural areas are still flocking to cities looking for jobs. Capitalism constantly throws workers out on the labor market through the process we just described—through the ongoing productivity increases, the introduction of new machinery and more capital-intensive production techniques, and so forth. But in regions where there is a large agricultural sector, there is also the constant influx of migrants who come to the city because they don’t have their agricultural plots anymore. Sometimes this is because they have lost their land; other times they just come to the city looking for a higher income. But as they enter urban areas, they add to the reserve army of labor.
The availability of so much cheap labor is a boon to employers in obvious ways. One very important luxury it provides them is to never have to commit to long-term employment contracts with their employees, because there are literally dozens of applicants willing to work for a pittance for most jobs. Even in occupations where there have tended to be longer employment contracts, like auto, steel, and rubber, recent years have seen a turn to contract labor hired on a short-term basis. The result is that in poorer countries whose agrarian sectors have remained large, job insecurity is much deeper, and the scramble by workers to hold on to whatever job they have is much more intense. This is especially because social welfare programs like unemployment benefits, free health care, and old-age pensions are quite uncommon. The job becomes the only means of sustenance, even for short spells. This, in turn, massively increases employers’ bargaining power.
Even in advanced industrial countries, the situation has deteriorated in the recent past. First of all, the decline in unions has allowed employers to shift from long-term contracts to short ones. For decades, unions fought for, and won, restrictions on employers’ unilateral power to hire and fire. They pushed hard to restrict firms’ reliance on temporary or short-term workers, and in so doing shifted the balance toward more long-term employment and, with it, greater benefits to workers. Of course, employers never stopped trying to recapture their power, and as the unions’ influence declined in much of the Western world in the 1980s and ’90s, so did the proportion of “good jobs.” This turn in the labor market was made worse by the more general slowing down of the economy since the early 2000s, so that the chances of new jobs opening up tended to get weaker due to slow growth. In other words, job growth became very anemic. Hence, the spells between jobs became longer for workers who were laid off, making the sense of insecurity all the more acute.
Finally, the actual size of the reserve army increased massively when the countries of the Eastern Bloc transitioned to capitalism in the 1990s. Workers who had not been part of the European labor market were now thrown into it—sometimes directly as with the reunification of Germany, or indirectly, as with the formation of the European Union, which vastly increased labor migration on the continent, flooding Western European labor markets with new entrants from the East. All these changes have made workers across the Western world start to feel a lot like their peers in the South—overcome with a sense that their well-being has become fragile, that their future is up in the air.
None of this is accidental. A baseline level of insecurity is forced onto workers by capitalism, all the time, everywhere, regardless of country or region. What has happened in the recent past is that institutions that had temporarily acted to decrease that insecurity are being taken apart. They are being dismantled by forces that seek to restore the status quo, because those forces benefit from it. Their actions are motivated by the logic of capitalism itself. And in poorer countries, the very expansion of capitalism has ripped rural communities apart, throwing peasants and farmers into urban labor markets, adding to the global reserve army, and pitting them against one another in a brutal fight for basic survival. This is the “free market” for billions of people.
The Pace and Duration of Work
In addition to the material inequality and insecurity that are built into the capitalist economy, a third harm comes from the drive to get the most work for as little as possible. There are two basic ways in which employers try to squeeze out more work from their labor force: by getting them to work longer, but also, paradoxically, through underwork.
Overwork: The first strategy is to get each worker to work harder, faster, and also longer. This makes most sense when workers are paid a daily wage. It was a fairly common form of payment in the nineteenth century, when workers were given a fixed sum of money per day for their work. It is also used today in certain economic sectors like agriculture and construction. Having paid workers for the “day,” employers then have every reason to make that “day” as long as possible. If the worker is paid by the week, or perhaps monthly—as in cases where they are paid salaries—the duration of work per day is often left unspecified. In these cases, having spent the money, the employer will typically get his money’s worth by extending the duration of each working day as much as possible, and extending the working week into the weekend.
A less obvious way of increasing the duration of work can be found in sectors where workers are paid by the hour. But it is also more common, since hourly wages are today the most common method of payment. This method is not to extend the working day or week, but the working hour. How can a fixed quantity of time, like an hour, be extended? Well, in the typical workplace, it is rarely the case that employees are actively working every minute of every hour. There is usually some amount of “down time” that is expected by the employees and hence absorbed by the employer. This could be in the form of time for bathroom breaks, lunch, or just work pauses. The fact that there is some portion of every hour that is not delivering labor means that the actual working day is shorter than the amount of time that the employee is at work. This amounts to a gap, a hole in the working day, which the employer then tries to fill up with actual work. In the US, this is what has happened in many sectors as unions have gotten weaker. In the auto industry, the shift was from a “50-minute hour” in the 1960s to something close to a “57-minute hour” by 2000. This amounts to a prolongation of the working day, even as the nominal length of the day remains the same.
These examples are all ways of getting employees to work longer. The second technique for extracting more work is by getting them to work faster. The goal here is to ratchet up the intensity of labor. Suppose employees in a textile factory produce one hundred shirts a day, with the day being eight hours. Increasing the intensity of work means that, with the same machines and in the same eight hours, they would be goaded into producing a greater number of shirts, say 120. There are many ways to increase production, but in cases of this kind, it is by getting the workers to do exactly what they were doing before, only more speedily. In the twentieth century, when the working day was mandated to have a definite limit of eight hours, the most common way of getting more work out of their employees was by this method—by getting them to work harder and faster, since the option of getting them to work longer was substantially curtailed. Indeed, whenever there has been any success in shortening the length of the working day, the response by capitalists has been to compensate by trying to increase the intensity of work.
Underwork: But the harm that the profit motive does to workers doesn’t just come from overwork. It also comes from underwork. We often think of employers as deciding between two courses of action: hiring workers and then keeping them on the job, or firing them if they are not needed. But there is also an in-between status: keeping workers hired but working them irregularly. In sectors like retail, employers find that they can’t anticipate what their workforce requirements will be day to day, because the flow of business is unpredictable. If they have too many workers in the store, and the customer traffic is low, they end up paying their workers even though they are not actually needed at the time. In technical terms, wages shift from being a variable cost to a fixed cost for that duration. What employers seek is to have the freedom to call in or send home the labor as they see fit—day to day, week to week—so that they can turn wages back into a variable cost. For employers, this creates flexibility. For workers, it means that their schedule might go from, say, twenty hours one week, to seven in the next, to perhaps thirty-five the next, and then zero the week after.
The result is twofold. First, for millions of workers, it means that having a job isn’t enough to make ends meet, because it only gives them a few hours of paid work over the month. They have to switch to a portfolio approach, juggling two or three jobs at a time, so that when they are not getting enough hours at one venue, they can seek more hours at another. But this very strategy is undercut by the second result of underwork—the problem that workers can’t plan their weekly schedule because they don’t know when they will be called in at any particular establishment. And since they can’t be sure when they will be asked to come to work at one place, they can’t be sure when they will be available to the other. This in turn makes it hard to hold on to a job, or even acquire one, because every employer wants a worker’s labor to be available when the employer needs it.
The second result of underwork is that the worker’s entire existence is now swallowed up by the needs of his employer. With normal work, at fixed hours and a predictable schedule, employees not only know when they work, but as a result, also know when they do not. This has the enormously important consequence of allowing them to plan for activities outside of their employment that are essential to their physical and emotional well-being—entertainment, time with their friends and family, even vacations. But when work is not only unpredictable, but also so meager that the struggle to acquire it overtakes all other priorities, it means that the very idea of free time as truly free simply disappears. Never knowing when they will be called to work, employees can’t afford to plan for any activity that might make them unavailable. They can’t plan family trips, or take a day or two to go out of town; even going to see a film is nerve-wracking. The line between work time and free time is thus obliterated.
When you combine the effects of underwork with those of overwork, what becomes clear is that an unconstrained capitalism has the tendency to obliterate the distinction between work time and free time. The unceasing drive to extract maximal value from labor at work has a direct impact on the quality of time workers spend away from work. In the case of overwork, when it results in fatigue or injury, time at home that could be spent developing other talents, or being with friends, or learning new skills now has to be devoted to simple recuperation—recovering from injuries, trying to reduce tension, etc. In the case of underwork, when there isn’t enough work and the employee doesn’t know when or even if he will be called in, he can’t take the risk of indulging in other activities because he can’t risk being unavailable when his employer needs him. Hence, in capitalism, even workers’ time away from work is directly colonized by the workplace and its demands.
The Rules Are the Problem
The preceding discussion helps us understand why capitalism can create such enormous wealth and luxury, but still leave millions upon millions struggling to stay above water. When it comes to the basic conditions of their lives—how much money they have, their basic economic security, and how much they get to work—most people have no control over it. Even more, the decisions about them are made by people who have a direct interest in limiting workers’ security on all these matters. And the incentive to limit this security is built into the system. It is the natural outcome of the profit-maximizing strategy pursued by every firm. Capitalists don’t undermine their employees’ well-being because they are mean, greedy or callous. They do it because this is how they keep themselves afloat, and how they grow. As long as firms compete on the market, their owners and managers will be punished if they don’t squeeze the most out of their labor force. So they do what they have to, and the most natural result is that their profits come at considerable cost to their employees.
This is why the mainstream promise—that if you work hard and play by the rules, you will make it to the top—is simply a lie. The rules are what create the misery. The basic setup of capitalism is simple—you show up for work every day, work hard, and do what you’re told. The promise is that if you abide by these rules, you will be rewarded with the good life. This promise is based on a very simple premise—that there is a link between effort and reward. If you work hard, the hard work will pay off. But the secret to capitalism is that there is no reliable connection between effort and reward. The people who work in nursing homes, or fast food, or Amazon warehouses, or in hotel kitchens—they create massive profits for their employers. But they not only see very little of it in their wages, they also have to deal with chronic job insecurity and terrible hours. They are playing by the rules. But the rewards are going to the employer, not to them. This is a basic fact about capitalism, and it is built into the system. It is the natural condition of an economic system in which the bulk of the population is given a simple choice: “Work for what we offer you, or go without a job.” What determines people’s economic fate in capitalism is not their effort, but their power. And employers always have more power than workers.
Changing the Rules
Another way of summarizing everything we have said so far is this: Capitalism systematically generates injustice. Most every modern theory of justice agrees that a humane society is only possible if people are granted basic material necessities and the freedom to set their own goals and priorities. People need to have basic material security and the freedom to choose how they spend their time and energy. This doesn’t mean that they have to be free of all constraint. In any large social system, people will have to accept some limits to their freedom and their social choices. But the authority to which they submit has to be accountable, has to be deemed legitimate, and can’t be used to undermine the well-being of other groups. But this is exactly what capitalism does—it consigns the vast majority to insecurity and arbitrary authority.
The employment contract is, in its essence, a surrender of autonomy to the boss. Of course, this means that workers agree to do what they’re told while at the job—they lose control over how they work, how fast its pace is, when to come in and leave, when to take a bathroom break, etc. Workers give up their autonomy over key aspects of their well-being for the eight or ten hours that they are at work. But they also have little or no say in how much they are paid for that work. What all this means is that, in capitalism, being a worker means making a trade—giving up your freedom over vast areas of your life to an employer, both inside and outside the workplace, in exchange for employment.
Now, the simple fact of being under someone else’s authority isn’t itself objectionable. Think of a family. Parents have near total authority over their children, encompassing every aspect of their lives. But we don’t typically object to this because we assume that parents will use that power to the benefit of their kids. In the case of the employment relation, however, employers aren’t motivated by their employees’ well-being. Their motivation is to maximize profits and minimize costs. Employees’ interests are not part of the consideration. Indeed, as we have seen, profit maximization typically comes at the cost of employee interests. Hence, from the workers’ standpoint, this is nothing other than being subjected to an arbitrary authority. They have no control over the boss’s power, and that power is often used in a way that undermines their well-being.
This is how capitalism breeds injustice. And that is also why it generates resistance. Employees resent having to take whatever wage their boss is willing to give them; they hate being pushed around while at work; they chafe at the fact that they work hard but can’t be sure if they will still have a job tomorrow, and so on. So they try to fight back, to get a better deal for themselves. The most common means toward achieving this is through individual action. This is only natural, since they compete on the labor market individually and are hired on an individual basis. Everything about the job encourages them to act on their own. So what means does the lone worker have at his disposal?
The ultimate weapon is to threaten to walk away—to quit unless the employer offers him a better deal. And for some workers, this can be effective. But it only works if that worker is hard to replace—if he has a very scarce skill, or is exceptionally able, or especially valuable in some other way. If this is the case, then the boss will probably have to relent and at least consider the demands from this employee. Another way a worker can resist, however, is not by demanding more, but by offering less. So, instead of walking into his boss’s office and insisting on a slower pace of work or shorter hours, he can simply decide to work slower; or to take as many sick days as he can get away with; or to not work as carefully as demanded—in other words, to shirk, and thereby to reclaim some of his time. In more extreme cases, he can take out his frustrations by actively sabotaging the workplace—this is where the expression “throwing a wrench in the works” comes from.
But all these methods are either minimally effective, or effective for only a few lucky employees. Although the boss will probably offer the highly skilled employee a better deal, the fact remains that the vast majority of workers are easily replaceable. So if the typical employee strolls into his boss’s office and threatens to quit, he will simply find himself out of a job. And while it is certainly possible for the individual worker to shirk in some way, if he does so for any period of time without getting his colleagues to join in, his actions will be very visible and easy to spot, and he too will soon be on the street. Hence, for the vast majority of people working for a wage, or even for a salary, individual-level solutions are simply not an option. They remain stuck in their jobs, have to settle for the wage they’re offered, accept the schedule they’re given and show up every day to do it all over again. The reason is as simple as it is obvious—it is easy to replace one disgruntled employee, or even five or ten.
The only viable solution is a collective one. The most direct avenue is through organizations that enable collective action. Workers find that making demands individually isn’t feasible because one employee is easy to replace. But replacing ten is harder and a hundred harder still. When one worker labors at a slower pace, it’s called shirking. When a thousand do it, it’s a job action. While the one can be punished, the thousand have to be negotiated with. It is this simple fact that inspired the modern labor movement in the early nineteenth century, and has not only kept it alive but at the center of every successful effort at improving the situation of working people in every corner of the world. Even today, we have not found any better vehicle for defending the well-being of poor and working people than trade unions, because unions are still the most effective means of collective action.
The other way in which workers have been able to find collective solutions is more indirect, through state policy and protection. Instead of getting basic goods by negotiating for more money with the boss, they can acquire them as social rights, from the state. Take the example of health care. Most workers can’t afford decent medical care in the market because it is too expensive. One solution is to rely on a union to demand higher wages, or to demand that the employer pay into a medical plan. But another route is to push for a national health service, like there is in much of Europe, which offers medical care as a right—paid not by the patient at the point of consumption, but by the state from its tax revenues. This can be extended to many other essential goods—child care, housing, education, etc.
Both of these strategies have something in common—they reject the idea that people’s fate should be left to how well they do on the labor market. In other words, they refuse to let the market determine our lives. They insist that people have to come before profits. This is why the Left has always tried to build organizations of labor, fight for economic goods as rights, not as privileges—and build social institutions that deepen those rights. But it’s not a simple task. Precisely because these institutions are based on labor’s greater power, and because they end up weakening the power of capital, any such movement immediately triggers a response from the ruling class. Always and everywhere, employers and the wealthy have resisted the attempts by the poor to create institutions for more economic justice.
So the next question is, how do we get there from here? How can we create institutions that advance the basic interests of working people? These are questions that we take up in the next chapters.